


It's Tradition

by venividivici



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Christmas fic, Fluff, Just an excuse to write ziall being oblivious ziall lovers, M/M, bc everything i write has to have some type of angst, merry xmas everyone, typical fic tbh sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:37:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivici/pseuds/venividivici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically this whole thing started out as a little seed from this <a href="http://corruptedziallfiles.tumblr.com/post/106026876462/mysticbacon-bro-come-on-its-a-mistletoe">post </a> and then sprouted into this healthy growth of Christmas Ziall goodness of ugly sweaters that aren't all ugly and the proper use of mistletoe opportunies going to waste. That's the summary.<br/>(And tbh, the ziall shortage on this site was taking a toll on me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> this is to readers of my tltb fic: this is not the piece of work i was talking about!!! that one is still processing. but this one hit me about two days ago and it wouldn't let me write anything else until it was done. though i hope you like this as well :3 xx
> 
> and to everyone reading this: merry christmas! x and if you don't celebrate xmas, i'm sorry. happy belated hannukah, then. or happy kwanzaa. and if you don't celebrate anything, i hope you're enjoying the rest of your year!!  
> as always, enjoy xx

Zayn's ugly Christmas sweater is actually. . . not that ugly. Pretty rad, if you ask him.

But don't ask him, because then he'll somersault into a prerecorded description of the gold-edged stitching and the two-tone green separate layers and the red ombre sneaking up the sleeves, the mahogany reindeers resting on the silver snow and the freckled dash of lights all over the surface. ( _Gah_!) But, it's his sweater. It's his baby, he designed it himself so he should be given a free pass towards boasting about it.

His first victim is Liam. But Liam doesn't ask, only drags Danielle alongside him as he dotes over their matching Mr. and Mrs. Claus wool sweaters, Dani offering a taut smile and a discreet hand itching the material on her shoulder.

"Isn't he just cute?" she asks tightly, pinching Liam's cheek with squinted eyes. "He handpicked this set, himself. Didn't even asked for my consent or anything, really."

"Simply the cutest," Zayn agrees exaggeratedly, stifling a laugh as Liam stays perpetually oblivious to their meaning.

Liam sighs happily. "I can live in this sweater forever. Sweetie, we're gonna live in these babies till the end of time."

"Of course," Danielle nods, washing the stained plate she found in the sink. Zayn appreciates that she indulges Liam in whatever he sets his mind on; as long as nobody gets hurt and Liam stays happy. And when she's drying her hands and stretching the collar to refrain from letting it meet her neck, she doesn't pester over the growing rash near her collarbone. Only tries to obscure it and gives Liam a high five when he asks for one.

They're both the cutest. Just adorable. But.

"But. . . you didn't ask about mine," Zayn says in longing, hugging the pullover over his torso, when Liam's walking away, on to the next victim of his own.

Zayn's whipping out a mean sandwich from a tupperware container in the fridge when Louis comes by, Harry following behind still talking to someone from the other room.

"It's about time I see your face out in broad daylight, your highness," Louis sighs, plucking the delicacy out of Zayn's hands to take a hearty bite.

"We're inside, dumbass. And it's ten at night."

"Semantics," Louis waves his hand in dismissal, goes to split the sandwich down the middle chaoticly and handing Zayn his half. Okay, it might be Niall's flat, but Zayn didn't agree to this disrespect. "But you're here! Missed you, mate. Thought my best friend was a goner."

"I'm only a ten-minute drive from yours," Zayn informs for the first time ever in their whole friendship. First. Time. Ever. But he pulls Louis into a hug and doesn't let go until he hears Harry whining about negligence.

"I see you've both planned together," Zayn gestures towards their sweaters. Louis has a stark white sweater, black branches of a tree topped with snow and a decorated Christmas tree next to it. Harry's his counterpart in midnight blue instead, the leafless tree traced yellow matching the stitched moon by his chest and the same Christmas tree in the same position. "Pretty gay, to be honest."

"Gay, huh? You wanna go there, Malik?" Louis raises his eyebrows, tucks his bottom lip into his mouth challengingly despite the smile in the corners.

Zayn knows where he's getting at, though. And okay, that's not okay. Louis shouldn't bring him up here. "You prick."

"Love you, too," Louis kisses his cheek, plops his leftovers back into the tray and by the time Zayn remembers _his_ sweater, well. He's alone again. Aw, bummer.

Well, whatever. Zayn appreciates it, loves it. He doesn't need anyone else's opinion.

"Bro--"

"Check this out!" Zayn interrupts Niall on his way towards him, a cup of champagne in his pale hand. Zayn pulls on the hem of his sweater and lets the fabric stretch over his stomach, displaying each minute detail clearly. "Eh? Eh? Neat, am I right?"

"Sick, Z, I like it," Niall nods, chugging the remaining expensive liquid down his throat before placing the glass on the counter besides Zayn's elbow. "Though, what're you doing in the kitchen by yourself, then?"

"But. . . my sweater," Zayn pouts, running a soothing hand over the garment in a comforting manner. _There, there, child. Daddy loves you_. "I made it myself."

" _You_ made it?" He waits until Zayn nods. "Holy shit, Zayn, thought it was just bought like everybody else's." He grabs Zayn's wrist lightly, circles it with a finger and a thumb as his other hand inspects the end of the sleeve. He brings it closer, has Zayn's hand dangling by his nose as he squints blue eyes and pinpoints the individual gold and red thick threading. "This is. . . This is so fucking neat. Could make a fortune outta these sweaters, babe."

 _Babe_. Nothing big. Just a thrown term of endearment Niall calls everyone, even his own mother. So the sudden hot thud of Zayn's rapid heart in his tight ribcage is very irrational. So irrational.

Why is Zayn still feeling this way.

"Don't say that," Zayn smiles, soon huffs a laugh to water down the softness of his voice. It only makes him look more delirious.

"But it's true," Niall nods slowly, giving his own trademark grin when he lets go of Zayn's wrist gently and sets it by his side. "Should've made me one, Zaynie, instead of letting me walk in me own place with this shit," he pulls on the collar of his own sweater, dark brown with orange and yellow ornaments, what the fuck. "We could've matched, too. Would've loved that."

Okay. That's kind of creepy. Because Zayn thought the same exact thing for this Christmas, and the one before. And the one before that but he had in mind for the five of them to match so that doesn't entirely count.

The only thing running through his mind to say is _Don't say that_. But he already said that. And the other thoughts sitting calmly on the sidelines of his brain wouldn't be so calming being poured into the air between them, so. Zayn does what he does best. He stays quiet.

"Thanks for coming, by the way," Niall says, turning around to take out a bottle of wine from his cabinet. "Haven't seen you for some time. How you've been?"

Zayn's been good. He _is_ good. He wasn't two months ago, when he bumped into Maura at the market and found out Niall's been dating a hot brunette from his office for a few weeks. Barbara, her name was. And Zayn only knows this because Maura kept saying her name with so much distaste he'd yelp with glee if she hadn't told him that Niall brought her around to meet the family.

Which is _not_ good, not for Zayn, at least, since Niall doesn't bring people he dates so early in relationships to meet his family. Whatever. To each their own.

"I'm good, actually," Zayn answers, tearing his sandwich into tinier pieces. "Been, just. Doing me, lately. Staying low."

"Ha, yeah, same. Been _doing meself_ , too," Niall laughs, pouring two wine glasses of the deep burgundy drink. He holds both in one hand, hands Zayn one as he places the bottle back on its rack. Zayn takes it, might not be of fan of this kind of alcohol, but he always takes when it comes to Niall.

He'll always take. No one's hurt in the end, anyway.

"Stick around for a little, yeah?" Niall asks, paying attention to his own drink. "Just for tonight, before you disappear again."

"I don't disappear," Zayn sticks his tongue out, aiming for playful when the drink in his hand is trembling from how much he's shaking.

"M'not judging you, Zayn," Niall laughs, a wrinkle between his brows as if the notion is absurd. It is. "You're doing _you_ , like you said. Can't get upset over that. Just stay the night."

Zayn doesn't drop his drink, but every organ in his body is splayed on the floor and his skin's currently peeling back, trying to flee this moment. "Hmm," he hums, clinking his glass to Niall's clumsily. "'Course, bro. Cheers."

Niall only smiles in reply, gives a knowing shake of his head before clinking them properly. "By the way, that was my sandwich, babe. Yer gonna have to make me another, to be honest."

 

Zayn doesn't meet anyone else new at the little party, which is great. The fact it's a little party is even greater, too. So much greater. The greatest. Greatestest.

He's drunk. Leave him alone. At least he's not driving, because he took a taxi over here.

Here is Niall's place, and Niall _isn't_ here. He's. . . just not here. Which is good and bad for Zayn. But still, he _wants_ him here, where he's sat at the end of a sofa. Really soft, probably suede. The sofa smells like Niall. Zayn wants Niall on his sofa with him.

When Zayn blinks for a few moments to clear his head, he's met with Harry and Louis across from him.

They're both on Harry's phone, might be scrolling through photos or playing a steady game of Farm Heroes Saga. They're quiet, despite the audible soundtrack of voices surrounding them. Harry's leaning over with the device in both of his hands and Louis' perched on his shoulder, cheek squished into Harry's shoulder as he occasionally brings his hand down to flick the screen. They work easy, and Zayn's always caught between sucking his teeth or cooing at their codependency. But, and Zayn cannot lie, they're just something to watch, something timeless, in a sense. For some reason, Zayn compares them to an old piece of art; something that's been around for ages yet their brilliance still manages to take witnesses' breaths away.

He wonders when they're getting engaged, thinks pleasantly of the fight over who's best man he's going to be. He can't be both now, can he.

"My love," a feminine voice chirps by his ear, and Zayn turns to find Perrie sitting beside him, kissing his cheek in greeting. "I've missed you, prince charming. A lady can only wait for so long."

"Hey, babe," he smiles, patting her cheek. "You look good, always looked good," he winks, settling back in the seat before Perrie's talking again. He likes Perrie, almost went forward on asking her out once. But he's glad he didn't. This probably wouldn't be happening if it did. He works good as a friend, horribly as a boyfriend. And he doesn't know why. But it just is that way.

Perrie's using one of her hands as she talks, the other gripping a tall flute glass half full. Her blonde hair's sporting thin blue highlights and she has red eyeliner matching her short dress. (No ugly sweater, damn her.) She's a looker, and Zayn takes in his eyeful until he hears Leigh Anne's name spill from her mouth.

"Pardon? You mean she's here?"

"Yeah," Perrie mutters, tilting her head in understanding. "But she's with her new boyfriend, Zayn, don't worry." He doesn't understand how she knows, how during Niall and Leigh Anne's relationship he couldn't be in front of them when they started giving each other gooey eyes in public. But he doesn't care how she knows, either. He's drunk, he might have all of this wrong, anyway.

So he blinks, smiles and kisses her forehead. She always makes him feel better.

What feels like fifteen minutes but is almost an hour later, he steers himself as he gets up, pets Perrie's head where she's in a heavily serious discussion on all the different types of cake batter with Danielle.

He's dialing the same cab driver, promised earlier of a ride back home, and he's fumbling with the doorknob when Niall chuckles behind him.

"Need to fix it, I know," he slurs, moving next to Zayn to grip his hand over his and shaking it a little, waiting for the hinge to unlatch. And okay, was that necessary?

"Thanks, bro, see you soon. And happy holidays." Zayn shakes his own hand when he plops down the porch steps. He can still feel Niall's sweaty palm over the back of his hand, the condensation stinging each hair follicle. Niall makes Zayn sting.

"Don't say that, Z, you sound too formal. Don't be formal with me."

"Uh." Zayn shuts his mouth, enjoys the churning outside breeze ruffling his sweater. His beloved sweater, he's going to cuddle with it tonight. "Sorry, mate, wasn't on purpose."

"Thought you were staying the night," Niall mutters, tapping the side of a closed fist against the doorframe. His hair's flat right now, not the updo' he styled earlier. He has blond split ends, Zayn realizes. Dark brown hair by his ears with a touch of blond on the crown. It's Zayn's favorite look on him; it's always been. "You're leaving kind of early."

"It's actually late, Niall," Zayn smirks, "I've been here for hours. I'll stop by sometime next year?" he cackles, so proud of himself. He's hilarious.

"S'not funny. That's alarming, actually. Sounds scary."

No one says anything after that. The fresh air is sobering Zayn up naturally and it only looks like Niall's becoming more drunk.

"Oh, look," Niall gasps, pointing above him. "What is this?"

He sounds way too suspicious, and when Zayn looks there's a ribbon-tied mistletoe dangling above him, loose leaves rustling in the wind and bloodred berries catching the porch light. Cute.

"A mistletoe? You didn't put it there?"

"I did, that's not the point."

Zayn hums, since in situations he doesn't know how to get out of, he hums. And this is a pickle right here. He hates pickles.

"Well. It's a pretty plant, Niall. It looks really nice."

"Don't be chickenshit, Zayn, it's just a kiss."

Wait a moment.

Zayn scoffs, because it's not just a kiss. It _should_ be a simple kiss. It should be something he got off his chest a long time ago. But it's still there, and over time this hammering desire to kiss Niall only drowned him, so tonight, outside Niall's front door, it's not just a kiss. 

"Niall, you're drunk. Love you, mate," _You have no idea how much, you asshole_ , "but just go back inside."

"Bro, come on. _Come on._ It's a mistletoe, one kiss, please?"

"You have no idea what you're asking for."

"It's _tradition_ , Zayn. It won't be gay, don't worry."

He is worried. And it will be gay. And Zayn's been a little gay for a blond white boy for over a year already and it will be completely gay for Zayn. It will be completely everything for Zayn. It will be completely nothing for Niall.

"C'mon, Zayn," Niall says again, quieter with a dab of yearning around the edges.

There's a house blasting Christmas music three doors down. There's also a group of teenagers laughing loudly on the corner, sharing a bag of candy and liquor eggnog between them. 

Zayn remembers when they did the same thing years ago; softer, chubbier hands passed a bottle between them as Harry rationed the snacks before Niall got his hands on them, Louis given more pieces than anyone else and Liam sweating with fear they'll get caught. 

Zayn is also going to remember this moment, whether as momentous or as a joke in a few years' time, he doesn't know. But he surges the last drips of dignity left and gets into Niall's space, stares evenly into blue eyes before leaning in to kiss his cheek, lingering a second longer.

"Thanks for the drinks, mate," Zayn murmurs when he backs up, turning around to make sure he doesn't miss a step. "I had fun tonight. It was nice seeing you, too." Niall only stares at him, narrows his eyes in thought. But doesn't say anything. So Zayn gives a two-finger salute, says, "Cheers." 

"Cheers," Niall manages to utter, after a very long silence.

It's a little awkward, and Zayn can handle a little awkward. But he can't deal with Niall any longer. So he nods in farewell and turns around, remembers a few blocks down from his house that he's never managed to call the cab and walked a half hour.

At least he'll burn off some reminder of tonight.

 

What people seem to misunderstand about Zayn is that he is a morning person. He doesn't mind waking up in the early hours of dawn. He could be wired up at seven in the morning if he goes to bed early willingly.

But he's highly against _getting_ up, getting out of bed before noon if he doesn't have to. And he doesn't have to _at all_ this morning.

The school is on winter break now, so his students are most likely slumbering through a dream or getting ready for bed at this time, shutting off their laptops and phones and snuggling under blankets while it snows outside.

Zayn teaches English for Year 11 and Year 13 students, runs an after-school art program on Mondays and Wednesdays. And loathes and adores his students more than he can explain with words _or_ illustration. But they're cool, most of the time. One student in particular--Dorothy, she's so quiet--gave him her favorite book to read during the break, didn't mind if he didn't give it back. Zayn was so touched by that, gave her a copy of his tattered Monet artbook. She went away blushing deeply behind her glasses with the book held close to her chest.

He gave each of his students the option if they wanted to get an early start on their coursework for when they return. It was strictly optional, because he was their age not too long ago and there was nothing worse than completing _school work_ during an assigned break from _school, itself_. (He actually plans to make fun of every student who went forward with reading Oedipus Rex.)

He oddly misses them this white morning as he flips through her novel, Saenz' _Aristotle and Dante._ And by the time it's noon, he's almost done and it's a tremendously brilliant piece of literature. The book is oozing literacy and he's so enraptured by the simplicity of it all and. And it hits home. It hits him suddenly, the depth of it all and how much he relates to it and.

Dear God, he's never letting the book go.

Well, he is. Because he has to clean up and give it back to her, of course. But after he showers, purposely using up the rest of the pomegranate body wash out of joy, and feeds his beloved and loyal cat and his room is in a better state, he makes himself a mug of green tea with honey and curls into the end of the sofa, already taking out the bookmark to continue reading.

Zayn finishes it in no time, and then has a difficult time coming to grips _that_ he finished it.

He never wants to read another book again, and he only wants to recommend every pedestrian he comes across to read it. Zayn even ponders over bringing up the novel to Niall, because he knows Niall will be interested enough to look through it if Zayn likes it so much. But Zayn also knows Niall couldn't finish a whole book if he tried. He did try, multiple times.

It's still snowing outside when it's four in the afternoon, the sky already covering the earth in a dark blanket that Zayn shouldn't like so much. But it makes him feel isolated, in a good way. Like no distractions are coming his way for the meantime. He hates distractions.

So he hates the ringing doorbell that comes two minutes into the Tim Burton film he's trying to watch.

But he does not hate it at all when he finds Niall outside his door, two boxes of pizza resting on a palm with his other hand tight around the neck of a green bottle.

"Bro!" Niall greets, red nose standing broad against his pale face. He's wrapped in a camo coat, blue jeans snug over skinny legs tucked into boots that might've been Harry's. He's such a beautiful mess. "Can I come in? Freezing my balls out here."

Zayn moves away, stutters over a laugh and greeting as Niall barges the rest of the way in, shaking away the last bites of frost as the converted heat surrounds him.

Zayn remembers last night, and he doesn't know if he feels more fortunate or remorseful for that. But nothing was ever black and white when it came to Niall. Zayn never made sense when it came to Niall. That never changed, even when they were younger, and the only thing they talked about was tits, Harry's mom, and the occasional complaint from Niall about wanting braces.

But as Niall moves closer to hug him, walks the way to the kitchen to place the pizza and bottle on the counter as he looks for cups and utensils, it doesn't seem like he remembers. And, that's okay. That's really okay. Because maybe if he did, things would've been different. Bad different. Awkward different. Zayn-doesn't-like-this-new-arrangement different. And if Niall doesn't remember, well. Zayn doesn't have to remember, either. It was just a kiss on his cheek, Zayn's kissed his cheek loads of time. Even accidentally kissed his forehead in the heat of the moment one time, but Niall brushed it off that day, too. So, Zayn doesn't have to remember.

And he doesn't remember. Zayn isn't given a time _to_ remember as Niall rambles on and on through the movie, laughs about what happened last night and who is dating who and what Zayn missed when they weren't together.

Zayn can't choose if Niall is the whitest boy or whitest girl he's ever met.

It's fine, everything is. It's not good, because Niall seems strong about not talking about anything at all that ties back to Zayn last night. So, it's not good. A little deprecating, rude, forceful. But Zayn's dealt with riskier projects.

Zayn learns that Niall personally invited Leigh Anne, himself, told her to bring her boyfriend because Niall and she are friends. 

Zayn doesn't bring up the month Niall locked himself away and cried on Zayn's shoulder, twice. Zayn doesn't bring up how useless he felt; how utterly low he felt when the guy he loved cried over his ex girlfriend.

Zayn learns that Niall invited Barbara, too. And Zayn instantly doesn't know how to feel about that until Niall goes on to say it was strictly a friendly invite. Zayn learns about Barbara for the first time from Niall, how Niall didn't tell anyone because Barbara wasn't the greatest girl to be around but he was really trying with her.

"Why'd you bring her to meet your family, then?" Zayn mindlessly asks, plucking the cheese off his slice to nibble on.

It's silent, and Zayn understands the tension settling when he realizes Niall never told him that part. And Niall isn't talking, which is never a good sign. A quiet Niall is a questionable Niall.

"Um," Niall goes on to answer, taking a sip from the Apple Cider he brought. He wanted to be sober tonight, even though he didn't drive. Zayn can't explain that. "She actually really wanted to meet them, wouldn't stop talking about it so I thought." He shrugs. "The hell with it, I'll bring her. Didn't last long, as you can see."

Zayn hums. He's a professional hummer. He should get a degree in hummingology.

Zayn passes Niall the remote when neither make a move to pick a movie to watch. And after Niall scrolls through Netflix and settles for The Polar Express ("I'm in the Holiday Spirit, Zaynie, I have a right." "Whatever you say."), they don't talk for the remainder of the movie.

Zayn likes this. This normalcy they can tuck themselves into, where words are silent and the atmosphere fills itself up, leaving no room for awkward pauses nor uncomfortable silence.

When the Netflix menu comes onscreen, Zayn rolls his head over to look at Niall, tells him to choose another movie as he goes to make popcorn because he's already hungry again.

Zayn comes back with Niall's favorite bowl brimmed with the popped kernels, finds Niall in the same position.

"Niall, mate, you're not going to pick anything?" Zayn hands over the bowl, smiles in soft triumph when Niall looks down at it and smirks, rubbing a thumb over the pink bunny on the side. But he doesn't grab a handful of the snack like he'd usually do. He only sets it by his feet and straightens his back. And that's it.

"Well, give me the remote, I'll look for something."

Niall doesn't hand it over, quickly puts it to his chest when Zayn reaches over to grab it.

"Wait a little, Zayn, just," and he bursts out a laugh as Zayn sits back in his seat. He looks at Zayn again, mutters under his breath and throws the remote over, says, "My bad, I've been off today, just pick anything."

"Niall, what's up?" Zayn goes on to ask, moving closer until his thigh's almost touching Niall's. "You are a little off, now. What's bothering you?"

Niall only shakes his head, looks little and lost when he looks down at his lap. He's like the little kid who cries once you ask them what's the matter. Instead, when Zayn asks him, he doesn't hide his face and cry. He swallows, looks up at Zayn and. And there's not a moment in between, no amount of time exists from the moment Niall peers into Zayn's hazel gaze, to when he leans in and kisses him.

There's no transition, no rising climax. Nothing to see this coming. Zayn doesn't see this coming. But neither is there a transition from the moment Zayn feels Niall's lips on his, Niall's _lips_ , to when he's bolting up from the sofa, Niall back to resembling a lost kitten.

"What the fuck."

Zayn breathes hard, struggles with touching a finger to his slicked lips. His lips burn, they're tingling. Niall's lips are wet, gaping open as blue eyes stare at Zayn helplessly.

"Niall, what the fuck did you do that for?"

"Hear me out," Niall's quick to plead, rushing to stand as well, pulling the back of his pants up. "Zayn, just hear me out."

"Well start talking. You just. What the--"

"I remember last night, is all," Niall sighs, scratching his sideburn. "I remember it, and I asked you for a kiss, and you didn't kiss me, and. It's not that big of a deal, please don't make this bigger than what it is, Zayn."

"So you kissed me because I told you no last night?"

"No. Yes. Ugh, whatever! That's not the point." Zayn waits for him to continue, feels a hot metal ball beginning to melt in his stomach. He can't pinpoint if he likes the feeling or not. "Okay, Zayn, before anything, you're my best friend. And if I weird you out right now, you'll still be my best friend. And I hope I'll still be yours, because you are my number _one_ best friend. You're just my number one. And--"

"Spit it out, you're making me even more nervous, Niall."

"Okay." Niall claps his hands together, jumps on the balls of his feet once before standing still. "I've wanted to kiss a boy for a while. A pretty long while. I've wanted to kiss a pretty boy for a long while. And this boy, who is pretty, by the way, also happens to be my best friend."

Bitch, what the fuck.

"But this really pretty boy, is straight. So that complicates things, especially since he's my best friend. And I don't think he'll stop being my friend if he finds out I want to do more than kissing with him. The pretty boy," he stresses, like Zayn's a toddler and Niall's sending him into the store to buy a bag of crisps. "I would like to hold the pretty boy's hand, he has nice hands. And he's a nice person. He's the best person I've ever met, so I don't think he'll hate me if he finds out. But I never risked it. And I'm still not trying to risk that. And--"

"You can stop, Niall. I get it."

"And I asked the pretty boy for a kiss," Niall goes on, "since the situation demanded it. Like, hello, if you're under the mistletoe with your crush, you grab them and kiss the fuck out of them, right? You'd do that, right, Zayn?"

"Niall."

"But he didn't kiss me. And I'm sorta happy he didn't. Because I'd have beaten myself up this morning even more than I already did. So I decided on a whim to come to his house, completely sober, to talk things out, and just see where we stand because not knowing is way worse than hoping. Even though there was a very tiny bit of hope."

"You know what, just," Zayn gestures with his hands dramatically, doesn't know what to say. So he strides over to Niall, waits until he's standing right in front of him, and smacks him. Lightly, once. Just enough that Niall's face jerks minutely to the side. "Just, be quiet for once, Niall."

"What'chu do that for?" Niall pouts, rubbing his face. He's such a piece of shit. God, Zayn loves him.

"Let me get this straight," Zayn starts, "You're. . . not completely straight?"

Niall shrugs, mutters, "Don't really care for that, but in this situation, the answer is no."

"And you've wanted to kiss. . . this boy for a while? Because you like them?"

"Yes, Zayn," Niall sighs, "I like--"

"And you tell me now?" Niall only bites the corner of his lip, sways side to side and hums under his breath when he looks at his feet. Zayn waits it out, lets the seconds tick by agonizingly painfully. "Who's this pretty boy?" Zayn teases, because in any situation where he'll find Niall so distressed, he'll tease his bollocks off. It's only tradition.

"Do I have to say it?" Niall huffs. Zayn raises his eyebrows in response. "You narcissistic motherfucker. Fine, then. His name is Zayn Malik, if that's what you're asking. And he's not as pretty as I said he was before."

"Why's that?"

"Because he's making fun of me when I'm really nervous as fuck, right now." Niall sounds so small, a little weak. And by the time Zayn hears the words, they're already broken and unable to support themselves.

Zayn only nods in understanding, wears the heaviest frown he can sport at such a time in his life. "I don't mean to mock, Niall. I'm sorry. But. . .just hear me out, okay?"

Niall sucks in a breath, looks to the door, and Zayn can tell he's calculating how fast he can get out of here and change his National Insurance number before Zayn ever finds him. But Niall turns to Zayn and gives a nod of his own.

"I won't freak out," Zayn licks his lips, pinches his wrist to make sure this is real. "Niall, are you telling the truth right now, or?"

"Zayn. Do not make me answer that. Because if I have to answer one more question, I will faint, right here." He swallows. "But yes, I'd think you of all people will know me enough that I wouldn't joke about this."

"Okay, then," Zayn breathes. "Wow, this is, um. Not easy to take in, Niall. You're still my best friend. And despite what you think, that'll never change, I'll still be around after. . . this, okay?"

Niall looks away, mutters something. He doesn't give any type of acknowledgement. Zayn's heart aches in so many different ways.

"If I'm being honest right now, Niall, I like someone."

"Shit, bro. I didn't know. I hope I won't complicate anything. Oh, my--"

"And he's my best friend, too." Zayn's throat shouldn't be this dry, he drinks water frequently. "And. . . he's the whitest person I've ever met, and he's really funny, and he lights up everyone's day. Seriously, it gets annoying as fuck when other people are all over him."

Niall takes all of this in, keeps the respectable distance between them when he crosses his arms.

"I've only liked him for a little," Zayn's a lying bitch, "and. Well, he's chaotic, sometimes. And I put my feelings aside because of our friendship and--"

"Okay, wait. I don't want to be presumptuous, but I don't know if you're talking about me or Louis? And if you're talking about me, stop talking, and get your arse over here," he points towards himself before crossing his arms again. "But if you're talking about Louis, don't know, Zayn. He hasn't looked at anyone since getting with Harry. And you're pretty and all, but Lou and Harry are a done deal. So unless Harry's willing to--"

"Oh my God. Just forget everything I just said," Zayn cuts him off. "Forget about me ever liking that best friend, because he's standing right in front of me and is the most stupid person I've ever met. You're so fucking stupid, Niall, what the fuck."

Niall looks like he was slapped again. Not only are his blue eyes open wide in surprise, in shock, even. But a growing redness is seeping up his face, practically suffocating him. "Oh," he says. Then his mouth trembles in a corner, raises over until he's full on beaming. Niall giggles, fucking _giggles_ on his way over to Zayn. And that's.

"Seriously, Niall?"

"Yeah, shut up," Niall murmurs, and before Zayn can express the depth of Niall's idiocy, that best friend is kissing the pretty boy. And the pretty boy wants to smack him again, and call him all types of dumb names. But he settles for kissing him, instead. Because it's rude interrupting someone while they're kissing. And the pretty boy wanted to kiss the best friend for a long time. And with the way the best friend pulls the pretty boy back in for another kiss, it seems like the sentiment is returned.

 

"Okay, class, go on your way. And Bryan, next time I assign something that's optional, just don't do it. You put yourself in the position for the whole class to laugh at you."

"Yes, Mr. M," Bryan mutters, blushing with a smirk as he trips his way out of the room.

Zayn fixes the papers each student threw on his desk, arranges them until they're in a neat pile by his stapler. "Dorothy, if I can speak with you for one minute." Zayn takes her novel out of his bag, watches her make her way over to him with a finger setting her glasses back in place. "I just want to thank you for letting me use this. It was beautiful, from beginning to end."

"You're welcome, Mr.," she nods, smiling shyly as he hands it over to her.

"I just have to ask, did you give me this book to imply something, young ma'am? Because this corresponded with a lot in my own life."

"Oh, no, Mr. Malik," she's quick to clarify, shaking her head violently. "I just figured you'll enjoy it, since every book you recommend to us is actually a favorite of mine."

Zayn hums, narrows his eyes and leans back in his chair. "Very well." He goes to dismiss her, but his phone lights up. It's a text message from Caroline, about his goddaughter Brooklyn. But the notification vanishes fast and his wallpaper shows.

It's a photo from New Years, just a week ago. Where Niall has a mistletoe hanging over Zayn's head, pale chest to tan back and a big hand on Zayn's stomach. Louis took the photo, sent it to _everyone_ (just their group chat) with the most exclamation points Zayn's seen at one time. They look happy, they _are_ happy; and Zayn understands what people mean when they tell him that when he's really happy, he has this funny look on his face. Because in the photo as he looks at Niall, he has a weird face, this lopsided grin and eyebrow pulled too low. Incredulous, even. It's all incredulous, in fact. And Zayn doesn't have to pinch himself. Though his skin does flare obscenely.

Dorothy sees the photo, looks away once the screen goes blank and gives Zayn the most confident smile he's ever seen on her. "Well, I better go, Mr., see you tomorrow."

"You're dismissed."

She leaves Zayn to his own hands, and Zayn's alone. Will be alone for the remaining of the school day. But there's this best friend of his that's picking him up afterwards. And he's going to take this pretty boy out for a late lunch, then an early dinner before the theatres, and Zayn thinks another dinner after that, he doesn't know. And Zayn doesn't want to miss it.

**Author's Note:**

> Zayn's wallpaper was inspired by Hannah's [drawing ](http://artofobsession.tumblr.com/post/106059935904/artofobsession-meet-me-under-the-misteltoe) of ziall under the mistletoe. Gah, I love her.


End file.
